*Stalker was sitting in a bar, knocking back another Jack Daniel's, and wishing once again that he could feel nothing. The booze was definitely helping, but there is only so much one can drink before ending up under a table, talking to one's self, and he did not want to end up like that, if he could help it. Not with the paparazzi that seemed to follow him, wherever he went.He did not want to embarrass Tala any more then he had in the past. She had put up with a lot of his sh*t for so long now, and he did not want to add to it.

*Once again, he asked himself why he was back in The Realm. Yes, his son was dead...his son...was dead. But, it wasn't like they were ever close. Hell, Stalker didn't even know who the mother was, though Tala at first had not believed him. He had not slept with any witches, and obviously the kid had been powerful. Julian had written him a note, to be delivered after his death, in which he explained that his grandfather, some old man named Whitsig, had gotten a hold of Stalker's DNA. and created Julian using magic, and his daughter to carry the baby to term.*

*He should just forget all about it, and go back south to Cancun. Tala was waiting for him, as she always did. and his life was there too. Although...his son was DEAD. He didn't want vengence against the person who did it...he heard who it had been, and honestly had no idea who she was. But, the old man, Whitsig...that b@stard had to pay. He had used Stalker's DNA. and had set the kid against him, though Julian's heart never seemed into being enemies with Stalker. The old wizard had used him, and NO ONE used the slayer like that.*

*So why was Stalker drinking? Because no matter what he told himself, the fact remained. His boy...his kid...was gone, and Stalker was going to get sh*tfaced, in some weird attempt to honor the young lad. The old Irish way, with whisky and some maudlin thoughts about what might have been.*

He had returned to the Realm a scant month earlier, leaving Ransom isolated at the Refuge in Scotland. He had checked on a few friends, and the remnants of his coven which had been disbanded. Some had found new homes, some had gone to Cancun, one had met her end, and he had found few details about her demise. The Scot had returned as a matter of business. As one of the wealthiest individuals both in the world of humans and in the Realm of Supernaturals, someone had to see that the mechanisms of his vast financial holdings were in place, hidden by layer upon layer of shell companies, blind trusts and lawyers. Not even he knew what his net worth was, though he suspected it was greater than all but the largest nations.

One of his investments he we anxious to see to was his communication and information network. A Cray supercomputer that he had purchased years ago as surplus from the U.S. government was buried deep in the Black Cuillins of Skye. It was the centerpiece and distributor of the world metadata, information that he had paid to have hacked, piggybacked, and networked with encryption that not even world governments could break. All of this filtered through the Cray and piped to him via satellite for his perusal. And what was he most interested in? The state of his friends and allies, and any whom would do them harm. Edward had tags set up to notify him if anyone he cared about had disappeared or reappeared or was in harms way in any way, all without invading their personal privacy.

And a tag had alerted him.

Reaching into his sporran, the black leather clad Scot removed his satphone, the tone of the alert garnering his full attention. He swiped through several pages of icons, until he came to his network page, labeled Skyenet. One of the icons was blinking and a touch opened another screen that listed a name as a link.

Patrick Ryan

The man he had stood against for ten years, and one of the last men he had seen before his departure nearly three ago, was at a bar getting sloshed. Security cameras had picked up the visage of the blonde, well coiffed rock start of slayer, and facial recognition systems had filtered through his network to the tag for Stalker. Edward had heard the mn was back from Cancun, but was now in his cups in some non-descript dive in the Realm.

He was the father of his friend, Julian Montgomery, who had never known his father - at least not to the Scot's knowledge. Upon his return to the Realm, he had learned of the murder of the young witch, but had not gathered any details of the deed. None-the-less, the issue at hand was to go to Stalker and get him out of the seedy bar before someone discovered him and made him a statistic.

Shifting to mist, the Scot vanished from his place of repose in Dessa's manse, and appeared on side street in a large city somewhere in the Realm. Entering the bar, the smell of stale beer, human sweat, and things better left not described met the senses of the Scot. Sitting at table near the back was man so many on his side had feared, a bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him along with a glass. He was just pouring another drink when the large man in black walked up.

"Well, hello Paddy, a bit in yo'r cups I see. Why don't ye just pull from the bottle, it'd be quicker, nae?"

*The Scot. Of course he had found the slayer at his worst. Not that it mattered, for Stalker knew Edward to be an honorable man, who would not take advantage of the situation. Even if he did, there was no doubt that Livia had sent people to follow him, no matter where he went, to make sure he didn't fall down the rabbit hole, and disappear from The Realm. She was a good egg, that Vlcek, and had risen up the ranks, just like he had.*

*But, she wouldn't stop him from destroying himself with drink, and neither would t;he vampire standing by him. No sir, Stalker would keep on drinking his drink until he was done making an a$$ of himself. Finishing another pour, he raised his glass to the knobby kneed Scotsman, anad smiled.*

"That would be uncouth, no? Nope, I like driniking from a glass just fine. Have some, why don't ya, and wipe that smirk off your face."

*That came off a bit harsh, and Stalker was no nasty drunk. Nosiree, Stalker was a magnamimous soul when it came to imbibing the beautiful nectar of his forebearers, and it would not do to insult this man, standing there in all black.*

"Sorry...I'm a few sheets to the wind already, and I am not even close to finishing any time soon. Pull up a chair, and tell me a story. Yeah, that's it, a story...tell me the tale of my son, and how you were more of a father to him then I ever was. Tell me, Edward...where can I find that old b@stard Whitsig, so I can pay him back for throwing a huge wrench into the works of my life."

Call it curiosity. Call it concern. Call it whatever you wish. It was true…Livia was stalking, Stalker. For good reason though. The man owed her money; maybe even some hair-care tips. Her ends we're trashed after a bleach job when she colored curly tresses pink. She needed a recommendation for split ends. Ok, they were actually divorced ends…that's how bad her hair was now.

Thanks Willam, for that analogy...

Not really. Well, her hair was trashed but that wasn't the real reason she was following the handsome blond through the burrows of New York. But that would be the excuse she gave Stalker when she speaks to him.

In actuality, the junior Slayer was surprised to see the male out of Cancun, curious even. It had been a few years since Livia had seen Stalker, let alone speak to him. And while he once led Abraxas, one of the most prominent Sanctuaries in the ‘Realm’, a Sanctuary Livia had never been a member of, Stalker was one of her dearest friends. He had even graced her with his presence as her Confidante for a spell when she decided to ‘hang a shingle out’ and open her own home in Paris. He was also the one she would go to for advice when her mentor was unavailable.

And then Livia had closed Saints & Sinners out of necessity. There were personal reasons that the Slayer couldn’t disclose to those that supported her the three years their Sanctuary stood. Couldn’t disclose? Maybe ‘wouldn’t disclose’ would be a better term. The Czech woman was never one for airing her laundry or troubles, even to those closest to her. Why plague them with her madness? Instead she put on a front that all was fine and simply returned to her former home before leaving for Cancun.

Those were the good ol’ days...for Livia anyway.

She hoped Stalker had fond memories of that time as well.

Then Julian was killed, her sources reported. And did Livia reach out to Stalker? Unfortunately, no. She was tied up in her own personal hell. But it still wasn’t an excuse, was it, to not offer her condolences to a friend when she was finally able? No...

So there she stood, lithe frame leant against the brick and glass facade of a dry cleaner, smoking a filterless cigarette, contemplating the life and death of Julian Montgomery. A boy she had literally watched grow into a man by some unknown magic; a boy equally gifted in the ‘dark arts’ as his father was gifted in the ‘light’ ones. The father that now entered the dive across the street and took a seat, Jack Daniels his only companion. Maybe now wasn’t the time to approach Stalker about Julian. She should wait for him to bring the subject up, shouldn’t she?

Scratch that…another player entered the picture.

Or appeared out of nowhere, rather.

Cerulean hues trained on a figure clad in black as it emerged from a cloud of mist. It seemed Edward had come out to play...which meant Livia would now need to approach. Gods only knew what the two would plot over a bottle of cheap whisky. A panty raid? The shoplifting of hair care products? A slow smile tugged at the corner of tattered lips. Probably none of that but a girl could dream, right? A flick of an index finger, spent cigarette sailed through the air to land unceremoniously on the asphalt that steel toed boots ate up under long strides.

A screech of tires.

Screamed profanities.

Livia took her sweet ass time crossing the street...just to spite the cabbie that hung from his driver side window shaking a balled fist. Ok, maybe she was hustlin’ now that he was lurching the cab closer and closer...violently. New York was no joke when it came to jaywalkers; these people were fvcking ruthless! Damn...

A sneer, a few barked curse words in her native tongue, Livia found the safety of the sidewalk and stiff armed the pub door harder than intended...and was met by scents that violated sensitive olfactory senses. Images of Mexico and Slovakia flashed briefly before her; replaced the room for many moments until the ‘pictures’ started to fade. Only then did she become aware of hardened stares from some dubious looking gentlemen. It seemed like this was a ‘family’ sort of place. Not that she really minded these kinds of places.

Spotting the two males, the young woman made her way past occupied tables until she was in earshot...and froze.

“Sorry...I'm a few sheets to the wind already, and I am not even close to finishing any time soon. Pull up a chair, and tell me a story. Yeah, that's it, a story...tell me the tale of my son, and how you were more of a father to him then I ever was. Tell me, Edward...where can I find that old b@stard Whitsig, so I can pay him back for throwing a huge wrench into the works of my life.”

A feigned smile, Livia slipped behind Stalker, slender arms encompassing strong shoulders as she leant down to kiss his cheek. “Can I buy you a drink? Get you a straw?” Pale eyes surveyed the bottle of Jack Daniels in front of the man. Had he already consumed this much? “Maybe another bottle? Hell, we should all take a road trip to Lynchburg, Tennessee. I’ve got the Impala at a parking garage. We could get you a barrel instead.”

A squeeze of her arms, the young woman didn’t release the man. “It’s good to see you again Big Daddy.”

It was rare for the Scot to smile. A smirk was common, but it took someone like Livia to make him smile. Edward pulled out the chair next to Stalker for her to sit, then took the chair opposite them both, pushing the fourth chair away. Looking to the keep, he signaled for two more glasses, then pointed at the sole, dusty bottle of Jack Daniels Monogram sitting by itself high on the top shelf. If he was going to drink bourbon instead of a proper single malt whisky, he'd drink the best in the house.

He turned back to his two old... friends? With Livia, that was a resounding yes. With Stalker? They had certainly grown past the point of adversarial acrimony. Good natured ribbing, an eye for beautiful women (to look at - both of them being married didn't mean they were dead. Well, in vampire-ghost's case not completely dead) and an appreciation for fine whisky or whiskey as the present case would be... yes, they were friends now. The three of them were friends with the common thread of the welfare of those around them, including each other.

"So Paddy, what brings ye back t'the Big Apple? Tala tired of ye lollin' around at the beach, drinkin' fruity drinks with little umbrellas and leering at pretty girls in skimpy beach wear? Or ha'e ye other bus'ness in the Realm?"

The barkeep arrived with two more glasses and the dusty (and expensive) bottle of bourbon. Edward handed the man a small stack of gold coins. Probably inconvenient for the till. but the man recognized a large tip when he saw one, and gladly took the coins. Pouring glass for Livia and himself, he set the bottle down between the three of them, "And why this pity party o'inebriation? Is this the wake for a certain witch that none o'us were able to previously attend?"

The leather kilted man was most often elegant in his speech, but he could also be brutally honest. This seemed like a time for honesty.

The last time Edward had spoken with Stalker had been in a casino in Connecticut. They had been discussing Julian and changes he had undergone following a battle with Whitsig, his arch enemy. An assassination attempt had broken up the meeting, and though the slayer and vampire had escaped unscathed, they had not spoken again, until now.

"What is it, Paddy... why are ye commiserating now, a year after his death? Has somethin' new come to yo'r attention? Is Whitsig back?"

Lots of questions, but that's why he was here. Not so much to discover things, but to encourage his friend to speak of the things that bothered him.

*Stalker smiled when the woman kissed him, and accepted her hug. No offense to the vampire, but she was a fair bit easier on the eyes than he was, Nodding, he brought the glass to his lips again, before responding to her greeting.*

"Good to see you too, Liv. It has been a while, and I hear you ranked up while I was gone. Congratulations. You desserve it, more than many that have done it. I know how hard you have worked, and now you can reap the rewards. Please, drink with me...to my son."

*He raised his glass, but started to really listen when Edward started to speak. The glass slowly lowered, to sit on the table agaiin, as he was peppered with questions...or, to his drunk mind he was peppered. He didn't like it, but knew the man meant nothing by it. The Scot was just being who he was...a straight forward leader of men, who was curious about why he was getting smashed in some rundown joint in a shady part of the city. No problem...until the glass was snatched up, and flung across the bar. to shatter against the brick wall, behind a shabby pool table.*

*Muttering apologies, Stalker motioned for another glass, so he could partake of some of Ed's booze. After all, he could afford it.*

"Whitsig kept writing me letters down in Cancun, laughing at me for not doing anything about Julian's death. He told me details about how he suffered, and died, and there was nothing I could, or would, do to stop it. The old man said Julian hated my guts, and"wished it was me that was dying instead of him. The kicker is...it should have been me. I deserved it, more than the boy."

"But, he never would have existed if it wasn't for the old bat of a wizard. He is the ultimate source of my pain. I finally snuck away from Tala. who did all she could to help me, and came here to The Realm. Why? I don't knlow myself...but getting drunk sounded like a good idea, so here I am."

"Good to see you too, Liv. It has been a while, and I hear you ranked up while I was gone. Congratulations. You desserve it, more than many that have done it. I know how hard you have worked, and now you can reap the rewards. Please, drink with me...to my son."

Livia reluctantly released Stalker from the embrace...especially after his words. She was at a loss really, of what to say. The Czech woman didn’t have children, would never know that joy. Even if it had been short lived in Stalker’s case, the junior Slayer was sure it hurt just as much...if not more so...to lose his son. To lose Julian. The elder Slayer would never know the joys that came with being a parent, only this blinding heartache. Then again, this was all speculation on Livia’s part. She had never been, nor would ever be, a mother.

“Thank you. I..I’m sorry...for your loss my friend. For not contacting you sooner...” Polished ivories pressed deeply into her lower lip as she searched for words. “Of course...I’d love to have a drink with you.”

"And why this pity party o'inebriation? Is this the wake for a certain witch that none o'us were able to previously attend? What is it, Paddy... why are ye commiserating now, a year after his death? Has somethin' new come to yo'r attention? Is Whitsig back? "

For as much as Livia was at a loss for words...Edward wasn’t. The Brollachan might have been even more blunt than Livia. Might? Definitely was. And she could appreciate what he was doing, or trying to do, partially. But sometimes people needed to know it was ok...to not be ok. A pale glare shot at Edward, one that said to dial it back...but that gaze softened when she realised that while Stalker had lost a son, Edward had lost a very dear friend as well.

A quiet sigh to center herself, the young woman took the seat Edward offered her next to Stalker, shrugging off her coat as she did so. A drink was just what the doctor ordered, it seemed; but two bottles weren’t going to be nearly enough for the trio. Especially this day. Had she simply taken the shot on Whitsig, Julian may have lived.

The shattering of glass.

Stalker muttering quiet apologies that were unnecessary.

Lissome fingers gripped the rim of the glass offered, a whispered word of thanks to Edward escaping scarred lips before the amber liquid passed over them. Had she taken the shot, Stalker wouldn’t be suffering from the words of that piece of sh*t warlock. Her mood darkened immeasurably.

Free hand rose to rub gently against Stalker’s back, an attempt to console and calm the man. To let him know he was not alone in his pain; that she and Edward knew loss, albeit not on this level, but that they were there. To drink. To talk. Or to sit in silence...with him. Whatever was necessary, they could face it together.

“He didn’t hate you…” Livia offered before she swallowed the contents of her glass and topped up her comrades glasses. “He realised you weren’t aware of the situation...and what good would your death have done? Who knows what that psychopath would have done to your son, to Julian, if you weren’t around.”

Ironically, if Whitsig hadn’t meddled with his magic, Julian wouldn’t have existed. And while Stalker may have lived without this pain he is currently feeling, the trio would have never known Julian. Which was a more melancholy thought than Livia wanted to acknowledge.

A glass of bourbon was poured down the cold throat of the vampire, the brown liquid cooled rapidly, sending wispy tendrils of condensation out of the corners of Edward's mouth. He poured another glass from the dusty bottle, pushing it back over to the two human slayers. As a soldier, Edward admired the man and the woman. Their abilities would bring muster to any special force in the world of humans, and they needed those abilities to take on the likes of the Scot. His strength was multiple times greater than both of them combined, and his quickness of motion was surreal to see in action. His experience at battle was centuries deep. But they both had a toughness, a sedulity, and perseverance that enabled them - along with their extraordinary skills at firearms - to negate his supernatural abilities.

But what he really admired in the two humans was the one quality he no longer possessed as a centuries old Undead. Expression of emotion, the ability to asseverate empathy... as a young Undead, his wife had that ability, that empathy, but his own spark of humanity was so deeply buried, he could barely feel the ache of loss his two friends so easily shared with each other. Did he miss Julian? Of course he did, as much as he missed the countless number of friends he had lost over the millennium and a half of his unnatural life. As much as he would miss these two humans when their time came. The missing was as much as he could feel, and he regretted he could not feel more.

Edward had not even flinched when Stalker threw the glass, but he felt the wave of angst sweep across him as the slayer reacted and then repented. He watched with a disconnected longing as Livia attempted to sooth the man with gentle words and gentle touch. If he could take that angst from Stalker and the empathy from Livia, and make them into a force to destroy what was breaking their hearts... he stopped his trail of mindless thought. Hopeful wishing was not his way.

"I na'er heard him speak o'his father, nor was I e'en aware if he knew before that moment in the arena. But I knew Julian, for as young as he was, he was a man and an honorable man at that; had ye come to him as a father, he would ha'e embraced ye as such, Paddy."

A deep pang from within him, from that buried spark caused him to draw a breath he did not need. He had nearly slain his own father nearly fifteen hundred years ago, in the same fit of rage that his father had slain his mother. And he had been banished from Skye, returning thirty years later to find his family destroyed, and never received forgiveness from his father, nor a final embrace. Edward buried the memory and looked up, and finished the toast Stalker had started.

"Let us raise our glasses to Julian... Julian Montgomery Ryan. Leig a spiorad a lorg sìth air an Taobh Eile. May his spirit find peace on the Other Side."

*Knocking back another drink from a new glass, the slayer realized there was nothing more he could do...he could keep drinking with his friends, and maybe drown the pain he felt in his heart. Or...or...he could find the old man, and tear him a new a$$hole, for being the source of that pain. Because, like it or not, Whitsig had used the slayer to create Julian in the first place.*

*He raised a toast with Edward, and Livia, and winced when the Ryan name was added on. Maybe someday there would be a young Ryan wandering around, but Stalker wou]ld try and keep he or she out of this life altogether. There would be no danger in their lives...he would make sure of it. Now, though, there would be a reckoning. and Stalker needed help in bringing his wrath upon that old f*ck.*

"I need both of your help. if you would be so kind. I have to find Whitsig, and I have to kill him. There can be no other way for me to move on. Julian deserves that. Please...I will beg if I must. But, I am not sure I can handle it on my own. Sure, I can probably kill him, but he has many followers, and they will do me in. Tala doesn't deserve that, or any of this. I need this closure in my life."

"I am not used to asking for help. Not for something so...personal. Normally, I keep anything bothering me to myself, covering it with a smart a$$ comment, or just punching me way through it. But, this will take more than any snark I can muster. This will be one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I need people by my side. So, please...will you both help me?"

"I na'er heard him speak o'his father, nor was I e'en aware if he knew before that moment in the arena. But I knew Julian, for as young as he was, he was a man and an honorable man at that; had ye come to him as a father, he would ha'e embraced ye as such, Paddy."

Livia mused over Edward’s words as she poured another glass of bourbon for herself. It was true, what Edward said. Not because she knew Julian so well that she could surmise he would have felt this way but because she herself grew up without parents. Against her will...and probably theirs. The young woman highly doubted her parents wished to burn to death in their home while their young daughter played outside.

And maybe this was the reason that Livia longed for family and tried so desperately to hold onto the friends she had. Maybe this was the reason her loyalty to Sprew, to her family at Azhi, ran so deep. But neither Edward or Stalker knew this. The only people that truly knew of Livia’s upbringing, outside of the psychologists at Tetragrammaton, were Malek, Valentin and Sprew. Even then, some details from the Orphanage were omitted.

Lukas…Do not say that name, Livi.

A large swallow drained the glass of amber liquid to half. Wherever Stalker was, Livia was trying to get there...metaphorically speaking, of course. Hopefully Edward wouldn’t be too upset that the young woman was downing the expensive bourbon like it was water but old habits die hard. Especially when painful memories are involved.

"He may not have hated me...but. I'll never know now, will I?"

And there it was...Stalker’s pain came from not knowing Julian like a father should know their son. She imagined it was a difficult position to be put in; suddenly knowing you have a child then losing that. Maybe more so than a child losing their parent. Plus, there was Tala and that certainly must have been a difficult thing to explain.

Blue green hues stared briefly at the mourning male then back to her glass. How does one console a parent that loses their child? Were there any words? The hand that rubbed at the elder Slayer’s back found the cheaper bottle of bourbon and filled her glass once more. His too.

“To Julian…” Another drink and slender fingers were fumbling at the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. Livia wasn’t familiar with New York but she knew that smoking was not allowed in most public places. Did she care? Fvck no.

A strike of a match. The tang of sulphur in sensitive nose. The tip of a filterless cigarette glowing bright as strong lungs pulled deeply. Sweet, sweet nicotine. There was really nothing better. Lithe frame relaxed immeasurably as tendrils of smoke drifted from chapped lips. Even as Stalker asked if she and Edward would help him avenge Julian’s death.

“Can he even die?” He was a warlock of some sort. One that had uncanny perception the last time Livia found him in her sights. “I’m down for whatever you've got planned, though.” Livia barked a laugh, “I’ve got nothing left to lose now.”

Golden eyes shifted back and forth between the slayers. Though he could not feel the emotions they did, he could see it in their faces, and in their eyes. What thoughts did his friends have as they spoke of Julian and no doubt had other thoughts brought up by reflections of death and family. Edward could enchant and hypnotize, but he could not read minds.

"I need both of your help. if you would be so kind. I have to find Whitsig, and I have to kill him. There can be no other way for me to move on. Julian deserves that. Please...I will beg if I must. But, I am not sure I can handle it on my own. Sure, I can probably kill him, but he has many followers, and they will do me in. Tala doesn't deserve that, or any of this. I need this closure in my life."

Whitsig! How many times had the old warlock been in their clutches, only to escape. They had all had chances at them, even Julian had nearly taken the old man out. But always, he had slipped away, leaving his minions behind to be slaughtered. A momentary smile curled the edges of his lips as he recalled being shot in the foot by Livia and the confusion of the Arena battle - it had not been the first time the Czech woman had taken her pound of virtual flesh from the vampire. He also recalled in his momentary reverie standing on the steps of Abraxas with his ex-wife, boldly (and some would say foolishly) challenging Stalker and his Sanctuary to come out for beat downs.

"I am not used to asking for help. Not for something so...personal. Normally, I keep anything bothering me to myself, covering it with a smart a$$ comment, or just punching me way through it. But, this will take more than any snark I can muster. This will be one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I need people by my side. So, please...will you both help me?"

The request brought him out of his reverie. There was never a doubt in the Scots mind that he would not refuse such a request, not only for Julian, but for these two people who sat with him and accepted him for the Undead nightmare that he was.

As soon as Livia replied, Edward nodded his concurrent acknowledgment, "Aye, I would welcome a chance to leak the life blood out of that obstreperous bästärd, and then grind his bones to dust!"

*Stalker had his eyes closed, silently praying they would say yes. This is what happens when you go on a bender, and deal with major issues while drunk. folks. Don't drink and think. Anyway, a smile crept onto his face as they both said yes, and he put his glass down on the knike scarred table. He was extrememly thankful for having friends by his side, even if one of them was a skirt wearing Scot vampire. He rose unsteadiy from his chair, and let lose a laugh.*

"With us on the casxe, nothing can stop us...except for maybe this booze. Man, I am smashed. Let me settle my bill, and then go home and sleep it off. Once that happens, we can get to work. barkeep, let me pay for this poison I've been drinking."

*He paid the man, leaving a nice tip, and turned to his friends.*

"Well, let's go my super friends. Time to blow this joint."

*He spun on his heel../.and went face first onto the floor, uncponcious. That's what happens when you drink too much, folks. Learn from this,*